


Color Me Red

by FindingSchmomo



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Architect!Oikawa, Flirting, Fluff, Home Renovation, In other words My Brand, Iwaizumi is buff painter, M/M, Meet-Cute, Oikawa is very gay, Painter!Iwaizumi, pure disgusting fluff, ushijima is there for some reason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 14:27:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20116579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FindingSchmomo/pseuds/FindingSchmomo
Summary: Oikawa Tooru is a perfectionist who insists on doing everything himself, including his massive home renovation. Until today, when he finally decides to pay someone to paint the exterior of his home. No one told him the painter would be this hot.Inspired by the new Official Painting AU Art.





	Color Me Red

**Author's Note:**

> if you dont follow my twitter you may not know about the feral frenzy i was in after seeing my boys in official art again. this is the result of that.

“Well, well, well, look who’s finally emerged from his cocoon.”

“Am I a beautiful butterfly?”

“More like a dull moth.”

“Makki-chan! That’s no way to greet your best friend,” Oikawa whines, lifting up a hand to nudge Hanamaki’s shoulder affectionately. Hanamaki grins right back at him as they take their seat at the tiny circle table by the window. Even after several months of not seeing him, the flow of conversation feels as natural as ever.

“How’s the house?”

“Still a work in progress,” Oikawa sighs, “The master bedrooms done! Floors stained, bathroom tiled. Crown molding put up..”

“So I can finally see it?” Hanamaki raises a brow.

Oikawa shakes his head, “Not until it’s  _ all _ done”

“Oikawa, are you  _ ever _ gonna be done with this project?”

“It’s almost done.”

“You said that last year.”

“Things come up in renovations all the time.”

“You’re a perfectionist. This wouldn’t be taking nearly so long if you just hired someone to do the work.”

“Contractors are bloodsuckers. I am fully capable of doing this on my own.”

Hanamaki sighs, lifting his hot coffee to blow at the rising steam. He takes a sip, “Are you going to paint the whole house yourself too?”

“Well, why not?” Oikawa huffs, sucking noisling on his straw and only managing to flood his mouth with whip cream. 

“Because it’s going to look like shit, and it’s going to take you three months to fix your mistakes when you could have had a guy do it in a day.”

Oikawa crosses his arms. 

“It can’t be good for your beloved princess to be inhaling all that sawdust.”

Oikawa purses his lips.

“Look, my boyfriend got his apartment repainted recently. Said they did a great job. Real professional. I can give you their contact info.”

“Maybe,” Oikawa finally concedes, taking another swallow of his Frappucino, “But no promises.”

“Your standards are too high, Oikawa,” Hanamaki sighs, leaning back, “Don’t act so high and mighty all the time.”

“That’s Grand King Oikawa to you, peasant.”

Hanamaki laughs, head leaning back. Oikawa keeps his grin even when Hanamaki throws a napkin at him.

* * *

“Kimi-chan, we’re having an intruder in the castle today.”

The cat on Oikawa’s chest gives no reaction to the news, curled up in a ball, her dainty little pink nose covered by her long fluffy tail.

“Kimi-chan, Papa needs to get dressed to meet the painter,” Oikawa continues, but decides to pet his baby girl rather than push her off him. She stretches out, pressing her face against his palm and nuzzling into the crooks of his fingers. Oikawa wishes his phone was within reach. 

Another perfect moment to add to Kimiko’s instagram feed, lost to the world. 

The doorbell rings.

Oikawa sits up, startling the feline into hopping off the bed entirely. He curses under his breath, swinging his long legs over and hurriedly dressing himself for the day. The doorbell rings again, and he calls out, but he doubts the painter can hear through the thick mahogany door he’d installed a few months back. 

The doorbell rings a third time before he’s able to fling it open, a sour expression on his face only emphasized by his squinting from the morning sunlight. 

“Iwaizumi Hajime from Seijoh Painters,” the man at his doorstep introduces, giving a polite bow.

Oikawa stares. 

The man is wearing oversized light blue coveralls, but Oikawa can see the power and muscle hidden underneath the baggy fabric. The way it grows taught around his upper arms, but wrinkles at his waist, hints at muscular definition. The man is a few centimeters shorter than Oikawa, but what he lacks in height he makes up for in his  _ thickness _ .

Oikawa realizes, viscerally, the last time he kissed a man was before he’d started this massive renovation.

_ Years ago _ .

His mouth feels dry, the itchiness sinking down his throat. His adam’s apple bobs and his lips part when the man lifts his head up. He has tan skin, a chiseled face with a strong jaw, and the forest in his eyes.

Oikawa swallows.

The man squints at him with his thick eyebrows, “Are you Oikawa Tooru?”

“Huh? Yes!” Oikawa recovers, straightening up, “Yes, ah, you’re the, uh painter, yes?”

Iwaizumi lifts an eyebrow, and Oikawa can’t help catching the way the man bites his bottom lip for a moment, releasing it to grin, “That what it says on my van.”

“Right,” Oikawa nods.

They stand there another moment, before Iwaizumi cracks a smile. Oikawa can see his tongue flick across his teeth. He wonders if its a conscious movement, or a nervous tick, or if his tongue always moves so fluidly.

“So, where do you want me to paint?”

“Right!” Oikawa startles, closing the door behind him with an unnecessary slam and stepping out fully. Iwaizumi blinks and Oikawa quickly explains, “I have a cat.” The painter gives an understanding nod and hops off the front step to give Oikawa more room. 

“So, uh, I need the outside repainted,” Oikawa says, tearing his eyes away from the intruder to look at his home’s exterior. It had changed so much since he acquired the dilapidated little two bedroom, but the exterior, minus the new door and window trimmings, didn’t show it. 

“Alright, you wanted white, right?” Iwaizumi continues, walking over to his van. 

“Actually, I believe I asked for the color called, uh, Unwind,” Oikawa quickly corrects, feeling his confidence resurface in his bones, “it’s an off-white and it may be simi--”

  
Iwaizumi hums, “GR-W05, I’ve got it right here.” He opens up the back of his van, “I also brought Frost 57 in case you liked it better. I know the colors can look a bit off on the website.”

Iwaizumi opens up both paint cans, with the first showing up to be a lighter shade of off-white than the latter. Oikawa inspects them closely, wishing he’d brought out his paint sampler cards to compare. “Can you put them both up so I can see?”

“Sure,” Iwaizumi responds, “Let me bring everything over.”

Oikawa hovers as Iwaizumi sets up his workstation. He lays down a tarp against the side of Oikawa’s home, drags over a folded ladder and then brings over both paint buckets. He then lays out his arsenal of brushes and rollers before taking a thick brush and using it to paint out two perfect 5 by 5 squares, one in each color, side by side.

Oikawa squints at them, peering closely at the slightly different shades. He then takes three steps back, trying to compare the colors to his already finished door. He frowns. 

“Can you paint a square on either side of the door?”

“Picky, eh?”

“I can do it myself if it’s too much trouble,” Oikawa replies back. He doesn’t mean to offend. He’s used to doing all the work himself. It’s easier that way. Things get done properly that way. 

The painter looks a bit annoyed, shouldering away Oikawa’s hand to lift the paint buckets himself and make the squares. Oikawa lets out a little huff but steps back, scrutinizing the process to make sure the man doesn't accidently drip on his beautiful door. He’d cut and sculpted it out himself!

Once he’s done Oikawa tilts his head, scanning from side to side between the two colors. Iwaizumi snorts, which has Oikawa grimacing, “I might need another day to think it over.”

“It’s your money.”

“Are all Seijoh Painters this rude and brutish?” Oikawa asks aloud.

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, “Sorry, your  _ highness _ , next time I will be sure to bend to your every whim.”

Oikawa actually laughs, the sound pulled out of him with a start. He smiles, “I should hope so, Iwaizumi was it?”

“It was,” Iwaizumi replies back, “So you want me back here tomorrow?”

Oikawa hums, “Very much so.”

Iwaizumi snorts again and Oikawa swears he catches a glint in his green eyes. 

* * *

The next day Oikawa is ready. He has on his stylish crisp white pants, teal polo, unbuttoned to show just a hint of his chest. His hair is brushed to the side and he’s added just the faintest touch of foundation.

Kimiko rubs against his leg and he pats her head before shooing her away so her fur doesn’t cling to the fabric of his pristine outfit. 

He’s able to open the door the moment it rings, and he catches sight of Iwaizumi Hajime in his neat teal coveralls. The man raises a brow but makes no comment, simply taking a step back so that Oikawa can come out. 

“Heading off to work, Oikawa-san?” he asks eyes flicking down his body. 

Oikawa feigns surprise, “I work from home, actually.”

“Yeah?” Iwaizumi responds, and there’s a delay between his words and the next statement, eyes caught straight ahead, which happens to be right where Oikawa’s collar reveals the bend of his neck. “So what, uh, color?”

“Unwind,” Oikawa points. 

Iwaizumi nods, turning to his van and opening up the back again to set up. Oikawa watches him as he does so, setting up his work station right by the side of the house once more. Iwaizumi looks over his shoulder at him when he’s done, the glare of the sun making the shadows on his face a bit harsher than usual, “You’re good now. It’s gonna take a while.”

Oikawa hesitates, “Are you sure you don’t need my supervision?” He lifts his chin to show off his neck a bit, as a last ditch attempt for attention.

Iwaizumi cracks a grin, “I think I’ve got it from here on out, your highness. Wouldn’t want you to get your fancy clothes dirty. I’ll knock if I need anything.”

Oikawa is disappointed, tearing himself away to go back inside. He frowns down at his outfit of choice, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. He thinks about changing, so he has better reason to insist on watching but knows that would be weird. He should let the man do his job and work. 

Kimiko disrupts him from his thoughts, meowing up at him and swishing her beautiful white tail. He smiles, bending down to pick her up and coo at her. Her long fur tickles at his cheek and he laughs to himself. 

He bought his current home three years ago, slowly but surely dismantling it and rebuilding it to his exact specifications. He’d quit his job to dedicate himself full time, using the substantial amount of money his parents had left him after...after they had passed. He’d shut himself off completely, seeing a friend here or there maybe once every few months. 

Kimiko was all he really had. A scraggly little kitten he’d found beside her dead mother, trapped in the basement wall he’d torn down. Now she was a perfect white beauty, and all he really needed. 

She meows at him, and he looks up to catch Iwaizumi watching him through the window. Iwaizumi turns away when they make eye contact, and Oikawa swears there’s a dusting of red on his cheeks. 

Or maybe it’s the heat.

The heat. 

“Good idea, Kimi-chan,” he mumbles, placing the cat down on one of the many perches he’d built her. He leaves her for his kitchen, digging through his fridge for his pitcher of water before thinking he could do better than that. 

He grabs some lemons from his fruit basket and gets to work with his juicer. 

By the time Oikawa has finished a batch of lemonade he deems acceptable, the sun is high up in the sky beating down hot rays. He steels himself with his tray of glasses and opens the front door. 

Iwaizumi is on the ladder, working on the second story of the front of the house. He’s already painted quite a lot, with even methodical strokes. It looks good, Oikawa would think, if he was paying his work any attention. 

Instead, he’s staring at Iwaizumi, who in response to the heat has unzipped the top half of his coveralls. He has the sleeves of it tied tightly around his waist, leaving his chest covered only with a thin white tank top. A sheen of sweat coats his thick biceps, little droplets pooling underneath his jaw down his neck.

Oikawa almost drops the tray entirely. 

Iwaizumi looks over at him and puts his paintbrush down on the tray at the top of his ladder. He carefully climbs down and walks over to him. Without a word he takes one of the glasses and gives a nod. Oikawa stares at him. At the sun kissed skin of Iwaizumi’s forehead and the sweat that drips down the side of his face. 

Iwaizumi takes a long slip, another droplet of sweat catching on his adam’s apple before dipping down under the curve of his tank top. 

Oikawa swallows. 

Iwaizumi takes a seat on the front step, looking up at him, “Well? Aren’t you thirsty?”

Oikawa stares at him.

Iwaizumi cracks a half smile, tongue peeking out to lick at the edge of his teeth, “You brought two glasses? Are they both for me?”

Oikawa scrambles to sit down, placing the tray on his lap and making sure not to spill any of his drink. He can feel Iwaizumi’s gaze on him and he tries to recover himself after that embarrassing display. 

“No thank you?” Oikawa asks, giving an exaggerated frown and hoping his words will distract Iwaizumi from the tremor in his hands. 

“It’s pretty sub par.” 

Oikawa blinks, “What? Really!?”

Iwaizumi laughs, lifting a hand to wave him off, “I’m just kidding. It’s good. Where’d you get it?”

Oikawa puffs up his chest a bit, shoulders dancing in excitement at the exact question he loves getting, “I made it myself.”

“Oh yeah?” Iwaizumi grins, “You don’t look like you worked a day in your life, pretty boy.”

Oikawa’s smile drops, regardless of Iwaizumi’s intentions. His words echo in his rotten brain, reverberating off the sides and down his spine. They rattle his ribs before piercing his heart. 

They’re the same words his parents always said.

_ Playboy Oikawa, never worked a day in his life. Dramatic, whiny, Oikawa, if only you knew what hard work was because it wasn’t pouring over blueprints and drawing straight lines with a ruler.  _

And then he died before he could prove him wrong.

The lemonade tastes sour in his mouth. 

He stands, “Well, I do have work today. I’ll leave you to yours.”

Oikawa slams the door shut behind him and climbs down the steps into his basement. It’s half finished, and one of his more ambitious on-going projects. He tries to ignore the crickets in his ears, chirping his father’s words at him. He ends up drowning them out with the buzz of his saw as he cuts through plank after plank of wood. 

A few hours later the door rings and Iwaizumi announces he’s leaving for the day. He just has the back of the house to finish and he’ll be able to come back tomorrow. Oikawa just gives him a nod and closes the door. 

That night Oikawa pulls the covers over his face so that not even Kimiko can reach him. 

* * *

Oikawa waves at Iwaizumi from inside the next day, keeping himself cocooned in his blanket. Iwaizumi waves back but doesn’t offer anything else. Oikawa watches through his window as the painter starts carrying his things to the back of the house. 

Kimiko brushes up against his leg and he pets the top of her head distractedly. He sighs as he shuffles through his home and back up to his bedroom. The master bedroom is the only room he has completely finished. A king size bed with a plush headboard sits in the middle of the space. A huge bathroom with separate shower and bath is connected to the bedroom on the left. He has space between them for his reading chair, which he sinks into now. 

He has his notebook with him and grabs the pencil resting on his ear to return to his sketches. He is currently mapping out his plans for his study. He’s mocked up thumbnails of a floor plan, sketchy and unmeasured. He just wants to block out where everything needs to be and decide whether or not he wants to remove an interior wall to widen up the space. 

It’s not like he needs another bedroom. 

He hears a crash.

He jolts up, rushing to the window to find Iwaizumi on the ground far below. He struggles to open his window before remembering to unlock it. Once he does it flies open and he almost falls out himself. 

“Are you alright!?”

Iwaizumi sits up with a groan, rubbing the back of his head with his hand. He pulls it back and even Oikawa, from far above, can see blood on his hand. 

Oikawa rears back, slamming his head against the sill with a pained shout before stumbling out of his room. He ignores the dull throbbing in favor of running down the steps and out his back door to where Iwaizumi has now picked himself off the ground.

“Don’t move!” Oikawa orders, “You might have a concussion along with your head wound!”

“Huh?” 

“Oh God, do you have amnesia?” Oikawa mutters, coming a bit closer, “I mean you no harm. I am your friend.”

Iwaizumi squints at him before bursting out into a laugh, one so big it crinkles the corners of his eyes and it’s all Oikawa can do but stare. His tan cheeks give off a rosy glow and Oikawa is floored. Absolutely floored. 

“I’m fine, Oikawa-san,” Iwaizumi says with an easy going smile.

Oikawa is dazed, but pushes on, “You fell! There’s blood all over your hand!”

Iwaizumi lifts up his hand, smearing it on Oikawa’s ratty pajama shirt. The man squeals, jumping back and looking down to see he’s covered in red... _ paint _ . He blinks. And then his face turns an even brighter shade of red, “You scared me!”

“I didn’t know you considered me a friend,” Iwaizumi comments, wiping off the rest of the red smear on his own shirt.

“I don’t,” Oikawa huffs, crossing his arms before realizing he’s just pressed his skin into the wet paint on his chest. He grimaces, “You’re a nuisance.”

Iwaizumi hums, “Am I?”

“Do you want to get paid or not?” 

Iwaizumi sighs, stretching his neck and wincing a bit. Oikawa frowns and steps forward, taking the man’s face gently. Iwaizumi stiffens, but he doesn’t pull away or tell him to stop. Instead he watches, carefully, as Oikawa tilts his head around. 

Oikawa realizes two things. 

One, Iwaizumi’s eyes have flecks of gold within their beautiful shade of green. 

Two, there is definitely a knot forming on the back of his head. 

He pulls back, even as his hands protest about leaving behind the warmth of Iwaizumi’s surprisingly soft hair. 

“You need ice for your head,” Oikawa decides.

Iwaizumi nods, “I’ll ice it when I get home tonight.”

Oikawa raises a brow, grabbing the man’s arm. It’s firm, thick and Oikawa’s long fingers can’t even wrap around it. “Don’t be an idiot.”

Iwaizumi mirrors his facial expression, and Oikawa can’t help thinking the man is teasing him in some way. He purses his lips to keep from letting loose a smile. “Come on.” He tugs him toward his door.

Iwaizumi actually hesitates, “I’ll get paint inside. I can wait out here.”

“Nonsense,” Oikawa waves off, dragging him in, “It’s a mess in here anyway.”

Iwaizumi looks like he is about to protest until Oikawa opens the door and he can actually see what lies within. It  _ is _ a mess. A mess of unfinished walls, open wiring and tools all over the ground. 

“Oh,” Iwaizumi blinks, following obediently behind Oikawa now, “You’re renovating...everything.”

“Yep.”

“How many contractors do you have working on this place?” Iwaizumi mutters, looking around.

“None.”

He swivels to look at him as Oikawa digs through his freezer, “What do you mean none?”

“It’s just me,” Oikawa replies, pulling out his ice tray. He digs through his pantry for a ziplock bag to fill. He feels his cat nudge his leg and he smiles, “Well, me and Kimiko. But she mostly supervises.”

“That’s crazy,” Iwaizumi insists, “This is way too much for one guy.”

Oikawa doesn’t respond, just grabs some paper towel to wrap the bag in. Once his makeshift ice pack is done he hands it over. Iwaizumi takes it and holds it up to the back of his head with a wince, “How much have you finished?”

“The master suite,” Oikawa says.

“How long have you been working on this?”

“I don’t know. Three years?”

“Three  _ years _ ?” 

“Impressed?”

“Are you crazy?” Iwaizumi snaps, “Why would you live like this for so long? There are people who can help you!”

“How would you know?” Oikawa snaps back, slamming his freezer closed a bit harsher than necessary.

Iwaizumi is undeterred, shouting back just as quickly, “I will! I’ll help you!”

Oikawa’s eyes widen, “Why?”

Iwaizumi seems taken aback by the question. He lowers his hand and looks down at the wad of wet paper towels, “To pay you back for the ice.”

Oikawa actually laughs, hard enough that his eyes squeeze shut and he curls inward. Iwaizumi laughs too, like the sound is infectious, and when Oikawa looks up at him and wipes a tear from his own eye he can see the man is grinning.

“It  _ is _ expensive ice.”

“I’m sure.”

“Straight from a glacier.”

“We’re running out of those.”

Oikawa laughs again, resting an elbow against his makeshift temporary counter, “Iwaizumi, you are not what I ever expected.”

“Yeah? Well, you’re full of surprises yourself.”

Oikawa smiles, “Not the  _ pretty boy _ you thought I was?”

Iwaizumi frowns, and he puts the ice pack down on the counter, “About that. Sorry. I misunderstood yesterday. I shouldn’t have assumed you were gay.”

Oikawa blinks, “Huh? But I am gay.”

“Oh,” Iwaizumi responds, “Cool.” Oikawa stares at him. Iwaizumi flushes, looking to the side and quickly adding, “I am too. Gay. I am, also, uh, gay.”

Oikawa snorts, lifting himself up, “How did we get here?”

Iwaizumi scratches the back of his neck before grabbing the ice pack to continue nursing his wound, “Well, now I’m  _ more _ confused.”

“Sexuality  _ can _ be confusing—”

“No, dumbass, I meant—”

“Did you just call me a dumbass, Iwa-chan?”

“Look, what I’m  _ trying _ to sa—What the fuck did you just call me?”

Oikawa giggles into his hand, “Just spit it out.”

Iwaizumi huffs, “Why were you mad at me this morning, if not because I called you  _ pretty boy _ ?”

“Hmm,” Oikawa hums, “Because you said I don’t work hard.”

“Oh,” Iwaizumi says. He looks around again, “Well I take it back.”

“Thank you—”

“You work  _ too _ hard. In fact, you need to stop.”

“Iwa-chan!”

“And that nickname needs to stop yesterday.”

“You ask too much of me,” Oikawa sighs, leaning his face against his palm, his brown eyes soft.

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes flicking them up at the ceiling like he refuses to meet Oikawa’s gaze, “I should get back to painting.” 

“Let me help.”

“I’m not gonna let you put even  _ more _ things onto your plate,” Iwaizumi argues back.

Oikawa pouts but doesn’t press, other than to add, a bit belatedly, “Feel free to keep calling me pretty.”

“Drop dead.”

Oikawa laughs and continues to do so even after Iwaizumi slams the door shut behind him.

* * *

Iwaizumi doesn’t work on the weekends, so Oikawa has to wait until Monday to catch sight of that handsome physique. All Iwaizumi has left to do on the house is to do the second coat of paint on the back side. Oikawa’s time is running out. 

He’s resolved to ask for the man’s number. He’s stupefied he hasn’t gotten it yet. He wonders if maybe it’s against company policy for Iwaizumi to ask for it. It’s rare that Oikawa is the one that has to ask for digits. But he can do it. And he will. 

Today.

Monday.

Oikawa doesn’t sleep much that night. The butterflies in his stomach wrestling each other, tickling his intestines and making it impossible to keep still. He rises up early to dress himself. He wears an outfit nice enough to draw eyes, but not so nice that Iwaizumi will order him to stay away from his work station. He’s learned his lesson. 

By the time he sees the Seijoh Paint Truck pull up his driveway he has two cups of coffee poured out. His own with three sugars and some creamer, Iwaizumi’s black. He bites his lip to steel himself before walking out the door to greet the painter and offer him the drink. 

Iwaizumi does not step out of the van. 

A stranger does. 

He’s taller than Iwaizumi. Taller than Oikawa even. With short black hair and a stone chiseled visage. Oikawa can’t help the disappointment that colors his face at the sight of him. 

The stranger waves. Oikawa does not. 

The stranger walks over to him, “Hello, I am Ushijima Wakatoshi, here to finish painting.” He takes the black coffee from Oikawa’s hand and takes a sip. Oikawa stares at him, dumbfounded.

“Where’s Iwa-Iwaizumi?”

“He took the day off,” Ushijima replies, “Do not worry, I am the most skilled painter on our team. I will have your house finished before noon. I apologize Iwaizumi has taken so long to do this simple task. It is unlike him.”

Oikawa feels his eye twitch and his mouth twist into an angry frown, “Iwaizumi has been doing a fine job.”

“I understand to the untrained eye it would seem so. But a house of this size should not take so long to paint. Do not worry. Leave the assessment to the professionals.”

“Actually,” Oikawa says, aggravation growing, “Something’s come up. I’ll have to cancel today. Can you have Iwaizumi come back tomorrow?”

“Late cancellations include a fee,” Ushijima responds, “Let me grab the paper work and we can go over.”

Oikawa groans, “Nevermind, just...just go ahead.”

“Very well.”

Oikawa watches the stranger go about his business. He leans against his front door and doing nothing to hide his disgust. He crosses his arms in order to squeeze his own biceps, digging crescent shapes into his pale skin. 

Did Iwaizumi lie to him? 

Oikawa hates that this betrayal has affected him so much. He’d only met the man a few days ago. And he was  _ employing  _ him. What right did he have to his time? Iwaizumi was just being nice to the weird workaholic recluse he’d met.

Oikawa turns back to go inside, ignoring Kimiko as she brushes up against his leg. 

Did Iwaizumi even think he was pretty?

Oikawa isn’t sure what to think, and so instead he descends into the basement to stain the desk he’d bought for his study from a yardsale. He’d found it for a bargain and had spent a good few hours stripping it of it’s disgusting yellow paint. The wood beneath was good, but he wanted it stained a few shades darker.

He pays Ushijima no mind. Ushijima pays him none either. At some point, when the sun veers into its afternoon path, Oikawa wonders if the man is even  _ still _ here. Did he just leave without a word once he finished? Well,  _ good riddance, _ he supposes. 

Loud knocking brings him out of the hope and he lets out a sigh. He pries off his thick work gloves. He takes his time ascending the stairs, feeling a bit petty. Finally, he opens the door and rests a hand on a cocked hip.

Iwaizumi Hajime is standing there. 

Oikawa’s eyes widen.

Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow. He’s not wearing his uniform, but instead some denim overalls over a loose teal shirt who’s sleeves he’s rolled up to his shoulders. He’s got a toolbox in one hand, and his other still lifted to continue knocking. 

“What are you doing here?”

“What does it look like?”

Oikawa stares. “They sent another painter. He finished.”

Iwaizumi hums, pushing through the crack in the doorway, pressing close to Oikawa’s entire body in order to get passed him, “Did they send Daichi?”

“Uh, it was,” Oikawa tries to dig up the name from his memory, “Ushiwaka.”

Iwaizumi snorts, “Ushijima? He’s a bit of an ass. Good guy.”

“What’s going on? Why didn’t you come this morning?” Oikawa huffs, hoping the hurt doesn’t leak through the gaps in his words. 

Iwaizumi sets his toolbox down on the dusty floor, giving the white feline that trots toward them an affectionate pet, “I can’t help you out on the Company’s time, so I figured I’d use the morning to buy some supplies before heading over here.”

Oikawa blinks rapidly, color starting to flood his cheeks, “You’re helping me?”

“Didn’t I tell you that?”

Oikawa looks away, “We were just, just—”

“Just, what?” Iwaizumi asks, taking a dangerous step closer. 

_ Flirting, _ Oikawa wants to say. Instead, he holds his ground, “You’re a weirdo, Iwa-chan.”

“It takes one to know one,” Iwaizumi levels back. He smiles, and the sight of it makes the tension in Oikawa’s body relax without his permission. “Are you going to let me help you?”

Oikawa purses his lips, “What’s in it for you?” He licks his lips to add teasingly, “Other than the gift of my presence?”

“What’s wrong with someone wanting to help out their friend?”

“I didn’t know you considered me a friend,” Oikawa echoes. 

Iwaizumi grins, licking his teeth as he shakes his head. He dares another step closer, putting his hands on his hips, “And if I actually would like to consider you something else?”

Oikawa leans forward, bowing his head slightly to stay level with Iwaizumi’s green gaze, “Like what?”

Iwaizumi’s lips are so close that his breath tickles Oikawa’s, “A nuisance.”

Oikawa pulls back to laugh, but Iwaizumi doesn’t let him get far, a hand shooting up to grab Oikawa’s collar and bring him back down. “ _ My _ nuisance,” he emphasizes. 

And then he kisses him. 

Oikawa’s fingers find the loops of Iwaizumi’s overalls, by his hips, and can’t help hooking his fingers to tug the man closer. His body is warm and firm against him, like a strong oak tree from a long gone childhood memory. The base of a tree house his father never built him.

He feels like home. 

Oikawa hasn’t felt at home in a long, long time. 

When they pull apart they’re both a bit red and out of breath, but their faces are stretched out in mirrored grins. 

“So will you accept my help?” Iwaizumi asks, his eyes glinting. 

Oikawa purses his lips—partly in thought and partly to invite Iwaizumi to kiss him again, “The benefits  _ are _ quite nice.”

Iwaizumi slaps him against the shoulder, earning a whine from the taller man. He rolls his eyes before holding out his hand. Oikawa lets out a giggle but complies, shaking the man’s hand firmly. 

“How are your hands so soft after doing this much work?” Iwaizumi asks incredulously.

Oikawa just giggles tugging the man closer by their clasped hands in order to lead him further into his home. 

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twitter @findingschmomo
> 
> let me know if the sight of painter au iwaoi struck you as hard as it did me
> 
> comments fuel me
> 
> until next time


End file.
